


Last Rites

by notjustmom



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-26 23:07:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5024167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I just finished reading Crucial, by scrub456, and felt a need to write a memorial service. If you have not read the Essential series, go and read. If you are reading Crucial, there are serious spoilers here so do not read until you are finished. With scrub456's blessing, here goes-</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Rites

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scrub456](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrub456/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Crucial](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4399382) by [scrub456](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrub456/pseuds/scrub456). 



> ****SPOILERS***** If you haven't finished reading Crucial, do not read. For those who have, I have been granted permission to write a memorial service, by scrub456, hopefully it measures up.

It was raining. Of course it was.

John had missed the funeral, though he had fought with Sherlock bitterly, he gave in finally when Sherlock looked him in the face and said quietly, "If you attempt to move from this bed, John Watson, I will get rid of every single jumper that you own. And, yes, I know about your secret stash. STAY in the damn bed."

But he was damned if he was going to miss saying goodbye to him today. He had been out of hospital for two months, and Molly insisted that the memorial wait until he had healed enough physically so he could attend. 

He wasn't ready to visit the roof, physically, or mentally, so he visited Greg's burial place. The stone wasn't even ready, and he was relieved as he wasn't sure if he could bear to see his name and dates yet.

He had Sherlock stop the wheelchair and asked, "a minute?"

Sherlock nodded and went over to remove some leaves from Mary's stone, in the space a few yards away. He never brought her flowers, just sat and chatted to her once in a while, especially lately while he waited for John to do his physical therapy for his leg which was slowly healing.

John took a sip from the flask, then shook out a cigarette, even though the matches didn't want to catch, eventually one flared enough to light it.

"I don't think I can smoke two today, Greg, sorry brother. I'm not sure what I'm going to be able to say today that will mean anything, but I need to do this for you and Molly and the girls. And Sherlock...shit. He still blames himself, occasionally if we get pissed enough we arm wrestle for who's to blame the most. I usually win. Not sure what I win, but I've always been stronger than him." 

He turned and looked at his best friend who was confiding something to Mary and shaking his head as if arguing with her. He pulled out his pocket watch and sighed, "Time to go, Sherlock."

John and Molly decided to throw Greg a wake at the local where they used to hang out, he couldn't imagine saying goodbye to his brother in a church and Molly agreed. 

"This needs to be a celebration, John. For everyone, but especially for you and Sherlock. And the two of you have to stop blaming yourselves. You know there was no way he was not going to try to help you two. He wouldn't have made it out of that street if either or both of you had died." He nodded and hugged her. She never cried in front of him, but allowed him to grieve enough for both of them.

They were the last two to arrive at the pub. It was overflowing with Yarders, Bart's staff, and miscellaneous people who loved the DI; of course Mycroft was there, with security unobtrusively placed at the bar and in the crowd, just in case. Molly saw them stop at the entrance and cleared a path for John's chair.

The crowd hushed as Sherlock pushed him in, and helped him out of the chair. Sherlock had tried to talk him out of it, but relented as he knew how important it was for John to be able to stand as he said goodbye to Greg. John did allow him to stand next to him and leaned on him as he began.

"Right. Thank you all for coming and I apologize for making everyone wait this long to honour Greg's memory, I appreciate you all waiting til I was ready to do this. Greg Lestrade was my brother, not by birth, but he was my brother in arms, and meant the world to me. I could tell you stories that would make you fall down in laughter and tales to rip your heart out, but you all have your own to share, so I will make this brief, except to share one of Greg's favourite speeches from Henry V, I hope I don't miss a line, he'd kill me:

"...If we are mark’d to die, we are enow  
To do our country loss; and if to live,  
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.  
God’s will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.  
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,  
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;  
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;  
Such outward things dwell not in my desires.  
But if it be a sin to covet honour,  
I am the most offending soul alive.  
No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England.  
God’s peace! I would not lose so great an honour  
As one man more methinks would share from me  
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!  
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,  
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,  
Let him depart; his passport shall be made,  
And crowns for convoy put into his purse;  
We would not die in that man’s company  
That fears his fellowship to die with us.  
This day is call’d the feast of Crispian.  
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,  
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam’d,  
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.  
He that shall live this day, and see old age,  
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,  
And say “To-morrow is Saint Crispian.”  
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,  
And say “These wounds I had on Crispin's day.”  
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,  
But he’ll remember, with advantages,  
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,  
Familiar in his mouth as household words-  
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,  
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-  
Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb’red.  
This story shall the good man teach his son;  
And Crispin Crispian shall ne’er go by,  
From this day to the ending of the world,  
But we in it shall be remembered-  
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;  
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me  
Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile,  
This day shall gentle his condition;  
And gentlemen in England now-a-bed  
Shall think themselves accurs’d they were not here,  
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks  
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day."  
(Henry V, Act IV Scene iii 18–67)

The gathered crowd cheered, and John reseated himself in the chair. He looked at Sherlock and nodded. They found Molly, who was chatting with Donovan, who had recently been promoted to DI. They congratulated Donovan and Sherlock whispered to Molly, "Can't stay, but bring the girls over for dinner and a movie tomorrow, yeah?" Molly nodded and hugged them both. They made their way to the door and both looked up to the stars that had suddenly broken through the clouds. 

"Home, Sherlock."


End file.
